


Rosewater

by Seaneta



Series: Water Series [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternative Univerise, Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 06:27:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4866533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seaneta/pseuds/Seaneta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham charades as a base. Hannibal wants Will to see the perks of being a sub. His sub. </p><p><i>Prequel</i> to Rainwater, but can be read on its own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rosewater

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel to “Rainwater”, which, I’m sure, will become quite obvious quickly. I didn’t expect such a positive response to Rainwater (thanks for that!), so I decided to continue exploring this universe a little more.

It was the last week in August, and the mosquitoes were relentless, getting their fill before autumn reared its head. Robert looked over at his kid, the stick with a bush of wild curls at the top, as they fished along the lake’s edge. Will was scrawny thing, but what he lacked in physical prowess he made up for in intellect. His boy was smart, and quiet as he was patient. That’s what made him the best fishing partner. Kasey chatted too much, she was better as a bar tender, or in his bed, than along a bank with a rod. Larry and Tom drank themselves stupid, blabbering loud enough to scare even their bait away.

Fishing with Will was therapeutic, relaxing. And Robert wasn’t a bad enough father to realize it helped Will out too. Especially with his first day of high school starting in a week. The boy was a ball of anxiety. He knew his job, which forced him to travel, was to blame. Will was always the new kid at a school, always the stranger. Even bases picked on him, never mind the fact Will would probably present as one any day now. Kids without an id were regarded as bases, neither sub or dom, even if it was obvious what they‘d present as. Sometimes, you could tell by the way the child acted, if they were quiet and docile, or loud and bossy. Sometimes there was a surprise, most of the time there wasn’t.

“Oh, hey, your bobber moved.”

Will looked up, dragging himself out of his own thoughts. “No,” he squinted, “just a breeze. I got nothin‘.”

Noth _ing_. Robert made that one comment that one time about Will’s uncanny ability to mock accents, choosing to sound like sort of news anchor, some proper white collar guy. Guess it struck a cord with the kid, as he purposely began to go back to his Louisiana diacritic anytime Robert was in the room. _I have a big imagination_ , Will had explained, then rattled on about some kind of empathy business.

Together they sat on the ground, bare toes wiggling themselves in the cool dirt. Robert tried again, aiming for more than a fragment. “Startin’ school soon. You think you want some new clothes?”

Will dug his fishing feel deeper into the ground beside him, deciding to hold his stomach rather than the rod. “No.” He bit the words out. “I’m good.”

“If you gotta take a leak boy-”

He bent over himself, shoving his head between his legs.

“ _Will_.” Robert leaned over and grabbed his shoulder. “What the hell’s wrong? Talk to me, damnit.” The moment he wretched Will’s head up, he knew. Presenting was an abrupt, random thing. The only thing that _was_ consistent was the fact it tended to fully develop and introduce itself during the preteen years. For some, it was a process that took several hours, symptoms similar to a bad flu. For others, it took less than five seconds, feeling nothing more than small cramp in their abdomen.

“W-Will.”

The boy looked at him with red eyes, water rushing down his cheeks. He kept clutching his stomach as small, pitiable whines escaped his mouth, like a wounded pup.

“Oh, god-fucking-damnit, Will.”

Robert wasn’t a bad father, but he wasn’t the best one in the world either. He immediately stood up, marching a few feet away and threw his reel from frustration and disbelief. The guys were going to have a big old laugh. And, hell, say goodbye to Will ever having a normal life. He was a dom, Will’s mom had been a strong base. So strong in fact, Robert accidentally read her as a dom when they first met. How the hell did they make a sub? Let alone a boy sub?

“Jesus Christ.” He muttered, kicking dirt up in the air. He chanced a glance back at Will, still clutching in his stomach and folding in on himself. Those goddamn whines. Those little _whimpers_.

Robert cut their trip short.

\- - -

“Classes? What kind of classes? That’s insane. Is that even a real thing?”

“Yes.” Robert hissed, glaring at Kacey as he gestured down the hallway. “Don’t raise your voice. I don’t want him to know.”

“And how much will those classes cost?”

“It’s not-” He pinched his nose, taking a heated breath. “It’s _not_ about money. He’s having enough trouble already.”

“He’s a goddamn medical problem, Bob.”

Will was supposed to be asleep in his bedroom, tired from the days events and, according to his dad, needed rest to adjust better. But he felt just fine. A bit different, like someone shook his head and some parts were loose, a bit cried out from the cramps, but fine.

“He’s my son, Kase. I’m not going to have him _subbing_ for the rest of his life.”

Will opened his door just enough for a line of light to spill through. He didn’t have a clear angle of the kitchen, but he could see shadows. He could hear everything.

“Then enroll him in those classes! They give pills for that sort of thing, right?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I just know that some people do it. You know. Hide themselves. Can’t fake a dom, but they learn to fake base.”

“Have you talked to Will about this?” Kacey grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, running a hand through her hair as she searched for an opener. “You don’t know. He could be a great nurse. He likes animals. He could start an orphanage for strays.”

“I’m serious.” Robert groaned. “He’s not going to be happy. He isn’t. Kid had dreams of joinin’ the police force. Bein’ a detective.” He scoffed, bitter. “You know subs have the highest suicide rate? Guess which age they are when they do it.”

His girlfriend stopped looking through drawers, turning back around. Robert was slumped at the kitchen table, head resting against his hand. It was unsettling, even for Will, to sense a dom so rattled. Kasey slowly approached him and put a comforting, but tentative hand, on his shoulder. “Hey. He’ll be all right.”

Will backed away from his door, stumbling in the dark. He looked down at his hands, felt his face and chest. He didn’t feel that different. He was still Will Graham. He was still starting a new school next week. He’d still take fishing trips with his dad. Still be “that kid” in class.

But his dad wasn’t upset he was a sub because it’d be embarrassing for him. His dad was upset because that meant _Will_ would be embarrassed. He’d be the one struggling. Subs came a long way since colonial times, but there were still strong stereotypes. He wouldn’t amount to anything as a sub. His dad was right. Everything was different.

\- - -

The office was in an old historical building, unlike most psychiatric practices, with an overhead library and towering windows. Will feigned indifference as he stepped inside, eyes quickly scanning for exits, surfing over the numerous books, trinkets, the chairs in the middle.

“Would you like to talk about why Jack referred you to me?” A warm voice asked behind him, a gentle shut of the door following.

Will frowned, walking to the center of the room, head unable to stop turning. Everywhere, there was something interesting, something that helped Will understand this stranger. The distance he put between the dom helped too. “It wasn’t so much as a…referral as it was a demand.”

Dr. Hannibal Lecter joined Will, though kept a respectful gap. His arms were clasped behind his back, an open stance, inviting. His lips, looking surprisingly smooth, were curved in a small smile.

“A polite euphemism, I admit, but your comfort is my priority. I allow potential clients to get acquainted with my office, with myself, a week or two before sessions would begin. I find that it helps. Your case is rather unique it seems. Jack sought out my particular skills, and gave you no choice in regards to therapy here.”

“Conversations.” Will blurted as he turned around, then sheepish, added, “I like the euphemism idea. And I want to help people. That’s why I’m here.”

“You save lives, Will.” Hannibal corrected, gesturing to the seat as he took one himself. “I read your work on the Letterman case. Very remarkable.”

Will practically heard “ _for a base_ ” at the end of Dr. Lecter’s statement, but decided to keep his mouth shut. This man was succeeding in a magnificent first impression despite his intimidating id. He gave a shaky smile.

“Thank you.” If this doctor was sincerely trying, then he would too. “I…to keep doing that, Jack wants to make sure my, uh, head stays straight. So, I have to start seeing you.”

Hannibal nodded, already knowing the basics of the situation, but tried to simmer his curiosity for the specifics. He normally worked with damaged subs, but he was also a consultant for the FBI, working with agents and helping them overcome traumatic events in a healthy and productive way. But as he looked at this Mr. William Graham, he knew their sessions wouldn’t be necessarily average.

The FBI was one of the top ranking, most saturated dom-businesses in the United States. Dominants were the competitive ones, the more violently-inclined, the decision makers and go getters. As FBI agents, they happily and assertively hunted the criminals and killers who, 9.8 times out of 10, were doms themselves.

So having Will, abase, sitting in the chair opposite of Lecter, was interesting enough. Though they were scattered throughout the work force, bases roughly made up 45% of the workforce. 15% of which served as actual field agents.

“Life as a field agent can be very demanding and distressing, even for some of the more alpha of doms. You’re not alone, Will.”

The other man frowned, doubting the fact. Dr. Lecter easily fell into that category, it was so obvious to read him. He was more thorough than Jack, but yet, somehow, this man made subs feel comfortable having this man as their therapist. He had magnetism, a way of marking anyone feel safe and relaxed. Will imagined Dr. Lecter having a difficult childhood, most doms threatened by him and bases intimidated. The man probably had to find ways to make himself more approachable.

 _Whatever it is, it’s working._ Will felt like he could trust this man. After all, there was a reason other than dick-headedness for Jack making Will go to Dr. Lecter.

“You don’t believe me,” Hannibal gave an amused smile, crossing his leg.

“No…no, it’s just…”

There was a silence as the doctor waited for him to continue. Hannibal scribbled the odd tick down on his notepad. Ending in fragments, assuming he would take the reign of the conversation was slightly peculiar.

“Jack…” Will winced, “..didn’t make me come to you because of the…stress, exactly. Not what constitutes as typical stress, anyway.” A heavy breath escaped him, his shoulders slumping. Hannibal prepared himself for the confession, nearly all of his patients had this sort of episode at one point or another. Most times, Hannibal already knew the shameful, the deprived, the embarrassing secret. Will, however, was a mystery.

And Hannibal never felt as captivated as he did with a patient before. Hm.

“I’m…not a base.” Will whispered the words, flinching like what he said physically hurt. Hannibal was silent, glancing down at his musings on the notepad. Will suddenly rolled his eyes. “I’m not an alpha either.”

“That’s incredible.”

Will’s eyes flicked directly to Hannibal’s for the first time, surprised.

“Heat rose to your cheeks when I complimented your work on the Letterman case. No, it’s not a cause for alarm. I wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t my job to. Your mental walls are strong, Will, surprisingly so. But your body still responds to praise.”

Will rubbed his right cheek, looking outwardly uncomfortable, but Hannibal continued.

“Tell me, Will, do you know what percentage of male subs make up the general population?”

He shrugged, looking away.

“Less than 15%. You must be awfully ambitious to work in such an environment.”

Really, it was a miracle the man was still stable. The subs were the ones who tended to hide their id, but most stop hiding it once graduating high school, and the rest after college. Will somehow managed further down the line. He was a medically abnormally. Hannibal, for the first time in a very long time, felt himself immensely fascinated. He wasn’t able to even read Will as a sub, normally having a very keen sense for such things. He couldn’t imagine the strength of Will’s conditioning in a sea of sharks in the bureau.

Will tried to level himself, making sure he felt no heat rise from his face at the flattering remark. He shifted in his chair, looking anywhere but at Dr. Lecter. The color scheme in the office was supposed to be soothing, but it didn’t help.

“I’m good,” he swallowed, eyes landing on a small stag statue, “at saving lives. If I don’t take this job…I won’t be able to live with myself.”

It had been the Letterman case that made Will go into teaching. The stress of it too much. He thought he made the right choice, but he had accepted Jack’s offer as a profiler a little too quickly two months ago.

Hannibal cocked his head. “You believe your health would be better off as a profiler, than it would be to reveal yourself as a sub.”

A bitter smile. “I know it’s not great.”

“But that’s why you’re here. Under the same of monitoring a base, I’m actually diving into much deeper waters.”

“If you don’t think you can help-”

“Of course I can.” Hannibal set his notepad on the table beside him. “I can keep you afloat in a sea of doms, Will. In fact, after telling me what you are, I find that you’re still comfortable in my company.”

He blinked. “I’m still a base. I’ve learned pretty early on how to act. It’s practically instinct now.”

“Except that it isn’t.” A pause. “I’m going to be honest with you, Will. I can help you, but I have never aided a sub while they were still hiding themselves. Concealing your id does more harm than good.”

“I know that.” Will pushed himself off the chair, rubbing his forehead. He tried to busy himself by reading nearby book titles. “A train wreck doesn’t begin to describe my issues. But I’m at a fork in the road. It’s either this or continue to hide myself anyway and do something I hate.”

“Teaching.”

Will grimaced. It was a well paying job, a respectable one. The best he could ever do as a sub would be nursing. And all sub pay rates were at a set amount; Will would have to find a partner to provide for him, fucking government regulations.

“It’s all right.” Hannibal smiled as he stood, extending his hand for a friendly handshake. Reluctantly, Will returned the gesture. “I always appreciate a challenge, Will. I’m glad we’ll be seeing more of each other.”

\- - -

Will was exceptionally clever, undoubtedly humble. His secret was kept under close watch, away from any formal reports, attention from superiors in Washington. The secret was never erased from record, because no ink had ever marked the word “ _identity: sub_ ” next to Will Graham’s name. Just a trustworthy friend of his, Dr. Alana Bloom, a no-nonsense director who wanted cases solved no matter the method, and Dr. Hannibal Lecter knew of Will’s conditioning. It was admirable, though it was something Will always insisted on ignoring. Even read as a base by others, Will was met with a mix of respect and awe which he promptly swept under the rug. There was such tension in his body, a heavy weight resting on his shoulders that others took for stress from his work. They misread it as strain from being a base, for forever competing with other bases and doms for reputable recognition in the bureau.

But Will Graham was a sub, not one fiber of his true being was competitive, unless one regards his pursuit of a serial killer before he could strike again.

It was captivating to watch Will work, whether it be at a crime scene, in the labs, or lecturing a class of training agents. Alana and Jack just didn’t see the effort Will put into his charade, they weren’t as intensely knowledgeable as Hannibal was in respect to body language; he knew the inner workings of the mind better than most professionals, skills honed to a knife’s edge as a necessity of his public and private life.

To Jack and Alana, Will was as standard a base as any base could possibly achieve. His mannerisms were textbook. His read was as tangible as a wall, each brick carefully set in the perfect role of a base. If Hannibal had been looking for it during their first meeting, he would have realized just how definitive Will smelled, so basic of bases, and knew it was artificial.

To Hannibal, Will was the most fascinating man in the world. As a sub, he not only broke stereotypes, but desecrated them until they were unrecognizable. The man was outwardly stubborn, fiercely intelligent. And as Hannibal was tasked to monitor Will as he worked for Jack, under the pretense of also working for the director, he wondered how the peculiar head of Will Graham operated, how his neurons snapped and went against every instinct his body insisted on carrying out.

 _Stand straight_ , his mind commanded, _and for the love of god do not fidget_.

Hannibal watched, as he always did, as Will went over case details with forensic scientist Jim Price. Because he knew what the man really was, Hannibal knew just what signs to look for. Like watching a fish try to breathe air, Will’s mind was at constant war with his body; the biology unable to comprehend why such an adamant endeavor would be worth losing your health over.

 _Look at his eyes, state your opinion, don’t back down if he challenges you, don’t stutter_. Will went through the motions, Hannibal observed. He had the routine down since his conditioning classes as a young boy.

 _Keep the walls up, and not only read as a base, act like one too_.

Routines were dangerous, Hannibal mused as he stepped around the cadaver in the lab’s morgue. All the others were too busy picking apart a body or attempting to understand their latest killer. So Hannibal watched Will, watched him as he kept up the charade and took cues on when to smile, to feign aggressiveness in front of alphas, to act. Will wasn’t comfortable with this existence, but he was well-adjusted to the formula of it all.

Hannibal imagined watching it collapse.

\- - -

It was a quiet afternoon.

Will always appreciated the 6:30 appointment time. It meant less strangers on sidewalks, less traffic. It was a time he would naturally unwind from the day’s events, and what better place to do that than Dr. Hannibal Lecter’s office?

Will perused the bookshelves on the upper deck, falling into a peaceful lull in conversation after discussing the difficulty of academy students. It was a formula Will quickly grew used to over the months, a formula he knew Hannibal carefully arranged to make Will comfortable, have him know what to expect. They always opened the floor to a case discussion. Then mindless chatter on personal thoughts.

“Have you considered a chaperon?”

Will nodded, expecting that. The last phase of their hour together always dealt with his identity. “A chaperon?” He called down from the deck.

Hannibal mirrored Will’s slow stride, hands clasped, relaxed, behind his back. “There are many respectable establishments in the area. I can recommend some very highly regarded bases who have helped subs in work environments such as yours.”

A chaperon. Will didn’t want to do business with some stranger from a company. He wasn’t pathetic enough to do business for subs without a claim. He had Hannibal to help him at work. Chaperons were more of a temporary thing anyway, hired for a trials, court cases, moving trips, getting comfortable in a new occupation.

“No,” he trapped the scoff in his throat. Even as a base, Will never liked the idea of vocally scorning Hannibal, a dom. Even if they were on a first-name basis. “I mean, I don’t want one. Wouldn’t want one. I already have you. I don’t want a stranger psychoanalyzing me too.”

Hannibal digested the answer. He tried to convey meeker alpha signals for companionship and for the sake of his work, all the while Will pretended to be a strong base for companionship and for the wellbeing of his job. How utterly perfect it all was, like the world’s most unique key turning the world’s most safe-guarded lock.

“Have you considered someone you already know?”

 _Alana?_  No. He would just be affirming her fears that he needed help. “I can’t do that to Alana.”

Hannibal watched as the man shook his head, easing down the ladder to be on equal ground. “Will, I was referring to myself.”

“What? Oh, like when I first began working under Jack? That wouldn’t be a good idea. People would ask questions. I don’t think agents bought the excuse you were working for Jack anyway.”

Hannibal had eventually stopped his monitoring when Will grew comfortable enough without him. They still made a point to talk about work in Hannibal’s office, and he had told Will more than once about his personal phone number for any emergencies.

“You have an interesting view of ideas, Will.” Hannibal smiled wide enough the other man thought he may laugh. “Convince me, why would it be unhealthy for you to reveal your id then?”

 _There_ it is. The same question they always ended up at. Will sat on a ladder’s step, sighing. He had to be blunt this time, not avoid it.

“If I was a sub,” he spoke slowly, “and doing this job, there’s be a target on my back. Lounds is relentless as it is. I wouldn’t have my teaching safety net. I couldn’t work at the academy. Be even more ostracized than I already am.” Will looked up. “I’d be a 36 year old male sub living by himself.”

Hannibal stared back, expression thoughtful as he gave an understanding nod. He closed the distance and kneeled, eyes taking in Will’s honesty. “You struggle as a base in fear of a scenario.”

“It’s not-” Will closed his eyes, a sharp breath leaving his nose. “It’s reality. As a base I’m not troubling anymore, I’m not a distraction, I’m not pressured to find a partner.”

Hannibal spoke soothingly. “Tell me why there is a pressure to find a partner, Will. Why do subs form bonds more early than other ids?”

Will pursed his lips, looking away. “Because they need to drop.”

\- - -

_“Ah, dammit! Throw the damn ball!”_

_“Bet Kenneth is feelin’ cocky after that last play.”_

_“Damn, two minutes left.”_

_Will listened to his father’s friends from the kitchen table, the sport’s game brewing some tension as he tried to finish writing a paper. His hand cramped often, but every break meant staying outside his haven of a bedroom longer. Will kept writing his opinion on America’s Gilded Age, completely disinterested, trying to drown out the noise erupting from the living room and the odd static in his head._

_“No way!”_

_Will dropped his pencil, flinching at the outburst, and sat back in his chair. His head didn’t want to focus on the assignment, which was odd, he ever had problems concentrating before. Writing was easy. He was a good student._

_“Oh, come on! Get back up!”_

_Will pushed himself away from the table, grimacing, feeling strange. It was his head, but it wasn’t a headache. Ms. Kimmel, who taught him expected mannerisms of bases, mentioned something like this only once. Everything else he knew on the subject was hastily read in a corner of a public library, face hidden and id shakily concealed._

_He felt hot, stifling in his shorts and shirt, but he wasn’t sure if that was the first wave of anxiety or the fact his body wanted to drop. A hand shoved itself into his short’s pocket, picking out the small bottle of artificial suppressants._

Take only one tablet by mouth daily

_Will stood, slipping the bottle away. He already took his allowance, any more and he’d be sick on top of…whatever this was. He looked through the doorway, knowing he’d have to pass the living room in order to reach his bedroom. Will closed his eyes, grounding himself, trying to focus on Ms. Kimmel’s instructions on channeling those walls in order to hide. The pills only did so much, meant more to serve as training wheels._

_The moment Will tried to make a retreat down the hallway, he heard his name being called._

\- - - - - - - - -

“Tell me about your first drop.”

Another day, another session.

Will had convinced himself that Hannibal wouldn’t discuss the topic of sub drops. Hannibal was a dom, had no personal knowledge of the cycle. He was unbonded, wasn’t dating to Will‘s knowledge, and who knows, maybe subs weren’t even Hannibal’s preference. An alpha like him, maybe he preferred a base.

 _Your first drop_.

Hearing the phrase, the inflection that prompted an answer, it caused a ring in his head and left a bitter taste in his mouth. He leaned forward in the chair, hating the subject of discussion, but appreciating how patient Hannibal was with the sensitive topic. They were friends. This should be easy. _How many times has Hannibal showed understanding? Surely he dealt with these stories before._

Will sighed, fingers clasped but restless. “The drop? My first drop?”

The man across from him nodded.

Another moment passed.

“I was still in high school, just a few months after I presented. I was doing homework, in the kitchen. I just…felt strange.” He shrugged. “So I got up, tried to get to my room before dad or his friends noticed anything. They were watching a game in the next room.”

“Did they know?” Hannibal began to take notes.

“No. But I just started my classes, so I wasn’t that great at hiding my id. I didn’t want them to know what I was…let alone what was happening.”

It was quiet in the large office. Will’s eyes looked unfocused as he dwelled on the memory.

“On my way to my bedroom, Larry told me to…get him a drink. Another beer. I-,” a strained smiled, “I didn’t feel like myself. I felt… _good_. Useful. I remember feeling hot.”

“What happened, Will?” His tone was soft.

“I gave him the drink. If they noticed something was strange, no one said anything. Then I went into my room and-” He winced. 

Hannibal decided to help him. “The request your father’s friend asked of you was enough to push you into a drop. It’s natural for the first time to be sensitive and long lasting. I doubt you got much sleep that night.”

Will could still remember how Larry’s casual order played on loop in his head, a pillow between his legs as he rutted and masturbated in his hand for hours.

“How did you feel, Will? When you followed through with Larry’s request?”

“Good.” He nodded. “Really great.”

“When did you last feel really great, Will?”

He had tried a… _service_ once in college when he was twenty-one. He had hired a base to force a drop on him. It was like bad pizza, edible, but he regretted eating it afterwards. Will knew where this was headed, like all their sessions. “I haven’t.”

 _You will_. Hannibal set down his pen. “I want to try an experiment, Will.”

He perked immediately.

“Over the months, my office has become a safe place for you. You have napped in my waiting room-” Will still blushed at the incident, “-browsed my books. And you trust me.” Both of them have shared numerous meals at Hannibal’s own house. Will would never have thought that was possible a year ago. Having dinner with an alpha _who was his friend?_  “I want you to let your walls down, Will.”

Will gave a long, loud stare. “Here? Right now?”

“Yes.” Hannibal was casual about the suggestion. “I think it will help. It will allow me to get a sense of what kind of sub you are. It will also help with your anxiety.”

“It will help?”

“If you grow comfortable breaking the wall, more familiar with your true id in private, then you will function better in public as a base. Feel better.”

Hannibal was delighted when he saw Will considering the idea. And when he asked, “How…long?”, oh, he couldn’t remember feeling so accomplished.

“The amount of time is up to you,” he kept his stoic composer, “How ever long you are comfortable.”

Will’s fingers stopped squirming, but he shifted in his seat, unsure and nervous.

Hannibal gave a reassuring smile. “I have done this with many subs, Will. Typically during the first week of sessions. They have felt safe here. Still do. This is a therapeutic exercise.”

“I don’t…I’m not sure.”

“You are, by far, the most stubborn sub I have ever met.” Hannibal gave a soft chuckle.

Will did what Hannibal aimed for; he laughed. The battle was won.

“Is that going in my report?” He joked.

“I fear Jack is already well aware of your stubbornness Will. And your tendency for stalling.”

He sighed, more out of mock anger than seriousness, and his hands slide back on his thighs as he leaned into the chair. He shifted slightly, feeling the seat’s cushion curve around his neck. “I haven’t, uh, done this in a while.”

“Take your time.”

Hannibal studied the man across from him, examining the way Will’s eyes slid shut and a focused breath left him. Hands relaxed on the chair’s armrests, feet planted themselves a foot apart. Every sub undergoing conditioning was always a different process, according to their personality. Subs learned and trained themselves to hide in different ways. Will was, one of the most remarkable Hannibal ever encountered. It wasn’t a quick snap of fingers, a strange tick that helped the walls come down faster. Will was deep in his charade, having some sort of convoluted mental process to safely reveal himself. Hannibal continued to watch Will as he sat against the chair, looking comatose. A number of seconds passed.

A sharp exhale was the last coherent observation Hannibal made.

Will Graham smelled of rainwater. It was faint but there nonetheless. It reminded Hannibal of a damp early morning just after a spring shower. His pen slipped from his grasp. Will wasn’t just the purest sub he ever stumbled upon, but he could also feel a bond. A compatible and perfect match, like a puzzle only meant for two unique pieces. Since he met Will, he always toyed with the idea of having him, even considering a forced bond, but this changed everything. Will was perfect. The bond is stronger than he ever imagined.

Everything happened in less than a second, but in Will’s mind, it felt like an eternity. When he opened his eyes and caught the sight of his psychiatrist grasping for composure, Will immediately began to hide himself. He stood, frantic, nearly toppling the chair as his face grew red.

“I-I’m sorry-” He backed toward the door when Hannibal stood as well. He knew the man felt horrible, probably wanted to reassure him everything was all right, but his heart stuttered even more. “I-I should, I need- I’m so sorry, I need to leave. I’m sorry,” he repeated, “I’m leaving now, sorry-”

Hannibal couldn’t stop reading Will, the idea of an unbonded sub suddenly so intoxicating because of Will’s sub identity. He stood, staring at Will, trying to apologize, trying to say _anything_ to stop him from leaving, but it was too late. The walls were back and the man shut his office door. Hannibal, overwhelmed, had to allow it.

He needed a minute of privacy, closing his eyes to indulge in that lingering, new scent. His legs took a few more steps closer to Will’s chair and he inhaled deeper, smelling the dew of freshly shaved grass, like a quiet villa in Italy, dampened with puddles just after a summer storm.

Hannibal’s lips curled in a smile.

A bond, a claim would be so easy. Will, the precious little sub, left his office with stammers and blushes, putting those walls back up as though he hadn’t felt the most powerful bond in quite possibly his entire life.

Hannibal opened his eyes, focus landing on his closed door. He wouldn’t let the man leave so easily again.

 


End file.
